Roxie's Return
by dinacarter
Summary: With a new wife and a baby on the way, Amos was convinced that life couldn't get any better--until someone from his past unexpectedly re-enters the picture and he suddenly finds himself at risk of losing everything. Sequel to "Luck of the Irish".
1. Chapter 1

Rating: M mostly for mature, thematic content, adult language and some moderate, not overly explicit sexual content-just to be safe.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Roxie and Amos, I just borrowed them to indulge my imagination. ;)

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This little story is just a continuation of "Luck of the Irish". It's something that popped into my head a while back when I had too much time at my hands (which doesn't happen very often). ;) Hope you enjoy it!

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**Chapter One**

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"Congratulations, Annie, you and Amos are gonna have yourselves a baby." Old Doctor Muller's words, spoken in his droll German accent, were replaying over and over in her mind as she walked down the busy sidewalk.

It was early May and the beautiful weather seemed to have drawn the entire Southside into the streets; but the pretty redhead took no notice of the bustling activity around her_. A baby_. She and Amos were going to have a baby.

Annie Hart could barely contain her excitement. She had been suspecting it for a while now, but not wanting to give Amos any false hope, she had kept quiet. But now that it was confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt, she couldn't wait to fill him in on the wonderful news.

Tenderly, she let her hand come to rest on her stomach, feeling the subtle swell there. It would almost be another five months until the new arrival Dr. Muller had said.

It was hard for her to believe that already five months had passed since their wedding. A remembering smile curved Annie's lips. How could she ever forget the day Amos had gone to ask her father's blessings? Poor Amos had been a nervous wreck that entire Sunday. When he had finally stood in the living room of the Sullivan residence, it had taken all her self-restraint to keep a straight face as her husband-to-be was nervously stumbling through his so carefully prepared speech. Apparently, her father had found it just as amusing; as soon as Amos had finished the last word, he had burst out laughing—much to Amos' chagrin. In the end, however, he had placed a fatherly hand on Amos' shoulder and welcomed him into the Sullivan family.

The actual wedding had been most memorable. Due to the fact that Amos had been married before, they both had resigned themselves to the idea that their wedding would not take place at their church. It was something, their Catholic faith prohibited. What a wonderful surprise it had been when Father Mulroney had pulled them aside one Sunday morning after mass and told them with a wink that sometimes, rules existed, only to be broken.

The actual wedding had taken place on a bitter cold New Year's Day with a host of friends and family in attendance. Under Mrs. Sullivan and Mrs. Hart's expert leadership, a group of ladies had assembled the most delightful wedding feast, complete with cake. And just when they thought that things couldn't get any better, Kieran Tully, Amos' employer, had presented them both with another surprise; an envelope, containing two-hundred dollars, and a note, forgiving Amos the remainder of the money he still owed his co-workers for his ex-wife Roxie's defense lawyer. Seeing the tears shimmer in her new husband's eyes had been enough to bring tears to her own.

It had truly been a day that would stand out in Annie's memories for the rest of her life.

Before she realized it, she suddenly found herself at the intersection of Cicero and W 99th Street. More than anything, she wanted to go down to Tully's garage and tell Amos the good news, but after quickly thinking it over, she resisted the urge. As much as she liked all of his co-workers, she preferred to surprise him in the more private setting of their home. Yes, she decided, she would cook him his favorite meal of poundies, cabbage and bangers tonight and divulge the good news then. With that, she turned down Cicero to pay O'Connor's grocery a visit.

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Standing on the threshold to his flat, Amos whistled some obscure tune as his fingers fished for the key in his pants' pocket. The delicious smell of bangers sizzling in bacon fat wafted through the hall, tickling his nostrils.

Amos raised his head and sniffed the air. He smiled to himself as he inserted the key into the lock; there was nothing better than coming home to Annie at night, coming home to a hot meal, coming home to her love and warmth. To him, there had never been anyone like her; soft and generous and passionate, yet filled with a womanly strength that completed him perfectly.

The enticing aroma of bacon and sausages enveloped him the instant the door swung open. Amos allowed himself a moment to savor the warmth. It was amazing how Annie's presence had transformed his once so cold and lonely flat into the warm and inviting place he couldn't wait to get home to every night. Yes, evening had definitely become his favorite time of day.

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Back in the kitchen, Annie had heard the clicking of the lock. She turned to the sink to quickly check her appearance in the small mirror mounted above it. Hastily, she tucked a few stray curls back in place that had come undone from her casual updo.

Moments later, Amos' heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Annie turned to throw him a welcoming smile as he walked into the kitchen.

"You're just in time, dinner's about ready."

Amos inhaled deeply. "Boy, it sure smells good." He set his empty lunch pail onto the kitchen table and then removed his cap. The sight of Annie humming a melody as she stirred something in a simmering pot on the cooktop, brought a smile to his face.

With few steps, he had crossed the kitchen to where she was standing.

"I missed you, honey." He tenderly cupped her face with his big hands and dipped his head to drop a loving kiss onto her soft lips. His expressive green eyes lingered on hers for a beat or two and he could see the love shining in their emerald depths. It filled his heart with indescribable warmth.

"I missed you, too," she said softly as he gathered her into his arms. Yes, she had truly missed him; they were not just words, simply spoken out of habit. Annie loved every moment with Amos. She loved his kindness and dedication; she loved the way he looked at her, the way he smiled, the way he made her feel. She loved everything about her Amos—even the fact that he could be a little slow at times.

With her head against his chest, Annie reveled in his by now so familiar scent; he smelled faintly of axle grease and gasoline, mixed with the heady musk of sweat and Barbasol aftershave. She loved the smell of him-although some people would have probably argued that gasoline and axle grease could hardly be considered "good-smelling".

Amos smiled down at her and then nodded towards the stove. "So. What's the occasion?"

Annie regarded him innocently, not ready to reveal her secret just yet. "Does there have to be an occasion?" She moved out of his embrace to turn her attention back to the skillet on the enameled cast-iron cook stove. Skillfully, she quickly turned the sausages over before they browned too much. She cast him a quick glance over her shoulder.

"If I'd a told you that I loved you, would that be reason enough?"

Amos smiled at that, but figured her query to be of a purely rhetorical nature, not requiring a reply. He watched as Annie lifted the lid off one of the pots to check on its contents.

"Hmmm, poundies," he said delighted. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. "I love poundies," he murmured against her cheek as he peered over her shoulder at the pot with steaming, mashed potatoes. He pointed at another pot, sitting on the rear burner. "What's in that one?"

Annie lifted the lid for him to see. Immediately, a cloud of steam rose from the pot, carrying with it the wonderful aroma of Irish bacon and cabbage.

Amos inhaled deeply and then sighed happily. He brushed a tender kiss against her cheek. "Bangers, poundies _an'_ cabbage?" he wondered, putting an emphasis on the word 'and'. "Are you still tryin' to tell me there ain't no reason?"

She turned in his embrace to meet his inquiring gaze, Her mouth twitched as she worked hard to keep her expression from giving away the joy and excitement she felt. No, she wasn't going make it that easy for him; she wanted to have a little fun with him first. Her brows narrowed and her hands moved to her hips, feigning annoyance.

"Amos Hart, are you suggesting that I'm keepin' something from you?" she asked with mock indignation.

Apparently, Amos failed to notice the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Immediately, he took a step back to raise his hands in an appeasing manner.

"Oh, sweetheart, no—no," he hastily apologized, "I ain't sayin' that at all…."

"—because if you do," Annie went on to say, undeterred, "you're absolutely right." She paused briefly and then added slyly, "daddy."

Now Amos looked at her, clearly confused.

"I am?"

Annie smiled excited.

"Yes, you are."

Amos scratched his forehead.

"You mean, I'm right?" he asked, uncertain.

Annie sighed at his obvious lack of perceptiveness.

"Yes, that too," she confirmed patiently.

For a moment, Amos said nothing more, instead dwelling on her words, trying to make sense of them, but then suddenly, he realized something else. He raised one finger in front of him and his gaze turned inwards as he tried to remember her exact words.

"Wait a minute, what did you jus' call me?"

Annie cocked her head. "Daddy," she said.

Amos still wasn't sure whether he had heard right.

"Daddy?" he echoed baffled.

Lifting her face, Annie smiled into his eyes.

"Yes, Daddy," she repeated.

Amos' gaze turned inward again as he gave the matter some more thought. Then his eyes found hers again.

"Wait," he said as comprehension slowly began to dawn on him, "does that mean-" he sought for the right words, "are you sayin' that I'm I gonna…are we-?" He shook his head slightly._ No, it couldn't be, that would simply be too good to be true._

By now, Annie couldn't conceal her own excitement any longer. She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Amos, I went to see Doc Muller today, he said we're gonna have a baby."

Amos looked down at her, for a moment too stunned to speak.

"We-we are?" he finally stammered.

Annie nodded, her face alit with joy.

"Yes…you're gonna be a daddy," she confirmed.

"A d-daddy?" Amos still couldn't believe it. "I'm gonna be a daddy?"

Annie nodded again, her eyes regarding him with warm tenderness.

"Yes, you're gonna a daddy. "

For another second, he continued to stare at her thunderstruck as her words slowly began to sink in.

"I'm gonna be a daddy," he whispered amazed. "A daddy." A tentative smile tugged at his lips. "I'm gonna be a daddy-" he repeated, this time louder. He looked down at Annie, awe, wonder and excitement all at once reflected in his eyes.

"Yes!" His arms flew around her and before she knew what was happening, Amos had already lifted her off the ground and begun to swing her around in circles.

"We're gonna have a baby!" he shouted, "I'm gonna be a daddy!"

Annie gave a surprised shriek. "Amos!" Her hands pushed against his chest. "Put me down, you're makin' me dizzy-"

Amos stopped immediately and set her down with utmost care. Ever so gently, his hands came to rest on her upper arms.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry-" he stared down at her concerned, "are-are you all right?"

Annie couldn't suppress a giggle. "Oh, I didn't mind," she said as her eyes settled on her stomach. She brought her hand up to come to rest on the small swell of her belly. "But I think somebody else didn't like it too much."

Amos' gaze moved down to her stomach, staring at it with awe. The notion that a little life was growing inside of Annie—a little life that he had helped create, filled him with wonder and excitement. He dropped to his knees before her. Slowly, tentatively, his trembling hand reached out, hesitating just above her belly. He glanced up at Annie. "Can I-?"

With an assuring smile, Annie took hold of his shaking hand and placed it on her stomach.

Their eyes met again and Amos was at a loss for words as the reality of the situation hit him.

"She ain't very big yet. Doc Muller said, she ain't much bigger than my hand."

Amos' amazed gaze settled on Annie's small hand.

"So tiny," he whispered awe-struck.

Just then, Annie felt a minute twitch, a faint flutter deep inside. An excited smile lit her face as her own hand came to settle on the still tiny mound of her belly.

"I think I just felt it move around."

Amos' large hand moved to cover Annie's. Now he was clearly intrigued.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Of course, the fetus was still too small for Amos to be able to feel its movement, but that didn't stop him from placing his ear against her stomach anyway.

"Must be a little shy," he finally decided when he wasn't able to hear or feel anything.

Annie smiled to herself. _Just like its daddy, _she thought fondly. For another moment, she allowed Amos to feel her belly some more then she gently touched her hand to the side of his cheek.

"I think we oughtta sit down an' eat, Amos. I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

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Later that evening.

"Amos?" Annie propped herself up on one elbow and gazed down at his sleeping form. He was on his back, snoring softly. "Amos?" she said again, this time a little louder.

He murmured something unintelligible in response and began to shift a little, the bed frame creaking with his movement.

"Amos." Annie nudged him gently.

"Huh?" came his sleepy reply moments later. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "You all right?" he mumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep. He opened his eyes and blinked, trying to adjust his sight to the semi-darkness of their bedroom.

The warm light from the streetlamp outside their window filtered mutely through the drawn curtains, bathing Annie's face in a soft shadowy glow.

She gave a small nod. "Yes."

For a few seconds, she said nothing more, thinking how to best put her complicated thoughts into words. "Amos?" she then said, "would you rather it to be a boy or a girl?"

For a moment, Amos gazed at her thoughtfully, giving her words careful consideration. "Sweetheart, it ain't gonna matter," he said at last, "it's gonna be our baby an' that's all I care about."

"You ain't gonna be disappointed if it's a girl?"

Amos looked on surprised. His hand reached forth to gently touch her cheek.

"Oh, honey, I ain't never gonna be disappointed. Look…I don't care if it's a boy or a girl—I just hope the baby's gonna look like you."

Amos was fully aware of the expectations men oftentimes had-especially, if when it came to their firstborn. He had experienced it firsthand with some of his co-workers down at the garage. For most of them, it had been extremely important that their first child was a son. Amos had never understood that. Apparently, it hadn't meant much to his own father; he was nothing more but a faceless figure to Amos who had left his mother shortly after he was born. He had never bothered to search for him. He had no interest in locating a father who did not want to claim him.

Annie's soft giggle roused him from his thoughts. "Look like me? Well, the poor thing's definitely gonna have plenty of curls then." Her fingers threaded gently through his sleep-rumpled crop of reddish-brown curls. "Between the two of us, there ain't no way around that."

Amos chuckled agreeably. He bent over her and brushed a tender kiss onto her forehead, figuring the gender issue settled.

"I love you, honey," he murmured against her warm skin before relaxing back against his pillow.

Comforted by his assurance, Annie snuggled closer to him, burrowing in the comforting warmth of him. With a soft sigh, she rested her head on his chest. "I love you, too," she whispered back.

Amos' arm came around her and he glanced down at her with warm tenderness. Her curly tresses were tickling his face and he gently smoothed them back_. A baby_. Just when he thought that life couldn't possibly get any better, he'd found out that they were going to have a baby. _His and Annie's_. Amos still could hardly fathom it. He smiled to himself; yes, he had to be the luckiest man in the world—lucky, because he had Annie's unconditional love_._ He didn't know how or why, but he was not enough of a fool to question it.

Annie shifted slightly beside him and suddenly, he was intensely aware of her warm hand on his stomach. Her fingers were circling gently and soothing, not deliberately seductive, but he couldn't help the delicious tightening in his groin her action elicited. He groaned softly.

It wasn't lost on Annie. Slowly, her hand began to expand its circle, gradually inching its way lower where it slipped beneath the waistband of his pajama pants to eventually settle in that most sensitive of spots.

Amos sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers began to gently squeeze and caress him.

"Annie-" It was a half-hearted plea, nothing more that did little good but only encourage her. Her thumb now rubbed the tip, spreading a drop of his arousal causing more. He groaned louder in response, involuntarily moving against her hand.

"Annie, sweetheart, you don't know what you're doin' —"

She smiled innocently. "No? What am I doin'?" His throbbing member moved eagerly in her hand as she ran her fingers down the velvety length of it.

He moaned softly. "Ughhh, don't—"

But his words carried little conviction; he was way too aroused by now. His arm tightened around her, instinctively pulling her closer. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her passionately as her small but capable hand settled into an irresistible rhythm.

_ Oh, good Lord-_

"Annie—" he moaned against her mouth, "you better stop, or—" But her hand only moved faster in response and within minutes, he couldn't hold off much longer; the throbbing and pulsing was building to an intolerable level with the feeling of her hand moving up and down around him. He was no longer aware of the instinctual way his hips bucked or the sounds of pleasure he made. Giving in to the overwhelming sensations, he held his breath as he dangled over the precipice of climax. Suddenly, with a choked groan, he went over the edge, panting and moaning as he spilled himself into her hand.

For a moment, he simply lay there, too spent to speak. He barely took notice as Annie wiggled herself out of his embrace. When he finally cracked open one eye, he found her sitting up beside him, smiling sensuously.

He smiled back. "You didn't have to do that, sweetheart," he murmured, still a little out of breath. His hand came to rest on her thigh, rubbing it gently. "I don't mind waitin' until after the baby's born."

Annie cast him a puzzled look. "Why should we wait until after the baby's born?"

He pushed himself up on his elbows to glance at her. "Well, because..." He hesitated. Talking about matters of intimacy wasn't exactly his strong suit. "well, with you havin' the baby an' all—"

Annie's brow furrowed, still not sure what he meant. "With me havin' the baby?-"

He sighed. No, this was_ definitely_ not his strong suit. "Don't you know what I mean, honey?—" He paused for a beat, struggling to find the right words. "I mean, us havin'...ah…well, relations. I thought, you're not s'posed to, you know, when you're expectin'." A look of genuine concern began to spread across his face. He added. "Look, I don't wanna hurt the baby, Annie."

Right away, Annie's expression lightened with understanding.

"Whoever told you that?" she asked, looking anything but concerned. "Oh, Amos, that's nothin' but an old wives' tale. I talked to Mary and she said—"

"Mary?" Amos interrupted her, "you told Mary?" He found it more than just a little embarrassing that Annie was discussing such private matters with her friends.

Now Annie sighed deeply. "Oh, Amos, I didn't tell Mary anything. We're just talkin' the other day and she was givin' me a little advice, that's all. She said that there ain't nothin' wrong with havin' relations while you're expectin'. S'matter of fact, she said that most women enjoy it even more durin' that time." At her last words, a slight blush had crept into Annie's cheeks.

Amos looked on thoughtfully, contemplating what she'd just said. His eyes sought hers again. "You think that's true?" he wondered, sounding more than just a little hopeful.

Annie's lips curved into a decidedly wicked smile. She leaned over him and brushed a soft, sensuous kiss against his lips. "I think there might be some truth to it. Why don't you try an' find out?".

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.TBC

A quick note from the author: Positive feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome-so if you have either one, take a minute and let me know and I'll post the rest. ;)

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

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About three Months later

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"C'mon, Amos, it's been a while since you gone down to Molly's with us." Seamus O'Leary gave his co-worker a friendly slap on the shoulder. "Just come along for a beer or two, you don't hafta stay long, mate."

As tempting as the thought of a cool beer was—especially with the sweltering heat and humidity so typical of a mid-August day--with the birth of his first child moving closer and closer, Amos knew where he'd rather be. He shook his head. "Naw, I don't think so, I better get home to Annie."

But Michael Finnegan wasn't one to give up that easily.

"Oh, blarney," he snorted dismissively, "Annie can manage without you for a couple o' hours--that baby of hers ain't due until next month anyways."

Amos raised his finger.

"Ours", he pointed out politely, "it's _our_ baby."

Finnegan rolled his eyes at that.

"Hers, ours, all the same," he grumbled, too tired to argue such minor details after a long, exhausting day of work. "Let me tell you, it's easy to get excited when it's yer first, but you just wait 'til it's number three or five or six—you ain't gonna feel the same then, trust me. You'll be glad if you can get away from it all now an' then."

Amos wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Speak for yourself," he said with a shrug, "I'm goin' home."

Amos' words didn't offend Finnegan. With or without Amos—he was going to have himself a few beers first before having to deal with his wife and kids. Somehow, the alcohol always seemed to make it a little easier. "Well, if you don't wanna come, suit yerself then, I s'pose." He turned to give Seamus a nudge. "Let's go, mate, I need a cool one."

Seamus chuckled at his friend's impatience. He gave Amos another clap on the shoulder, this time in dismissal. "Well, night then," he said, "but if you change your mind…you know where we're at."

Amos acknowledged him, but he had no intentions to reconsider; tonight, nothing could have changed his mind. He was hungry and tired and all he wanted was to go home to a nice meal and Annie.

For a beat, he watched his friends walk down the sidewalk, laughing and carrying on amongst themselves. He scratched his head, still thinking about Finnegan's words. _Why did he start a family in the first place if taking care of them seemed such a burden?_ Amos decided, that no matter how many children he and Annie would have, he'd never feel about them the way Finnegan felt about his own.

He lifted his cap and dragged a forearm across his brow to mop up the beads of perspiration that threatened to run into his eyes. Although it was already a little after six, the August sun was still hovering hot above the horizon. The air was heavy and laden with humidity, drawing the sweat right out of one's skin. Amos replaced the cap and started to walk, eager to get home to Annie and the relative coolness of their railroad flat.

He hadn't walked very far when, suddenly, he heard someone call his name.

Amos' head jerked to where he thought the voice had come from. Surprised, he watched as a slim figure now emerged from the concealing shadows of a nearby doorway_._

"Hello, Amos."

He swallowed hard at the sound of the familiar voice. It was a voice that he had hoped never to hear again as long as he lived.

Smiling, the figure continued to walk towards him.

Instinctively, Amos took an uncertain step back. He blinked, still not quite sure whether he wanted to trust his eyes.

"Roxie?!" It came out as nothing more but a surprised croak. He stared at her, completely stunned by her unexpected appearance.

She really hadn't changed much, he couldn't help but notice; her blonde hair was still bobbed short and she still wore more make-up than he thought necessary. She was as beautiful as ever and any other man would have probably found himself instantly attracted to her—but not Amos. Whatever he had once felt for her had died two years ago.

She batted her eyes demurely, giving him what she thought was her most sincere smile. "Well. It's been a long time, Amos." She took a few more steps towards him and then stopped right in front of him, quickly sweeping him with her assessing glance.

_On the outside, he really hadn't changed at all. But yet, there was something different about him. _ Roxy couldn't quite put her finger on it, and it bothered her a little.

"You're lookin' real good, Amos, you haven't changed at all." Her probing blue eyes captured his, oblivious to the clear shock in Amos' eyes. "You know, I've been doin' a lot of thinkin' lately. I know what I did was wrong, really wrong. But I've changed, Amos. I was foolish, but I learned my lesson, really." Roxie raised a hopeful brow. "I'll prove it to you if you give me the chance."

By now, Amos had gotten over the worst of his surprise. If she would have spoken those words two years ago, he probably would have believed her, probably would have begged her to come home with him. But a lot had changed since. He regarded her suspiciously.

"What do you want, Roxy?"

Roxie's brow furrowed ever so slightly at the unexpected, cool response. But she caught herself quickly. She reached out and touched a cool finger to his cheek. It made Amos flinch.

"I wanna come back home, Amos. I miss you an' I want you back."

For a moment, Amos was too stunned to speak.

"Come back home?!" he echoed weakly.

"Yes." She nodded excited. "Just think. Ev'rything could be just like it used to be. You know, just like old times." Before Amos could do anything about it, she had slipped her arms around his neck. Her mouth was almost touching his ear and he could feel her warm, nicotine-laced breath against the side of his face. "I want you back, Amos," she whispered seductively.

Immediately, Amos stiffened.

_Just like old times_. He felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. Suddenly, all the pain and heartache that he had thought long forgotten was back, rising to the surface of his mind like a leviathan from the deep. Amos gave another shiver. Her touch was quickly becoming intolerable. He brought his hands up and deftly removed her arms from around his neck, then he took a quick step back, trying to put a, what he thought, more comfortable distance between them.

Roxie stared at him, surprised. For a second, the irritation was plain in her eyes, but then she quickly adopted a sympathetic expression.

"I know you're upset, Amos, " she said, forcing a patient smile, "but we can take it slow, you know…get to know each other all over again—"

But Amos was only half-listening--to him, her eyes were telling an entirely different story. He shook his head, his eyes holding hers coolly, steadily. "No, Roxie." But his hand was nervously running up and down the side of his thigh, betraying the tension that was so evident in every line of his body.

She raised her brows in surprise_? Why was he suddenly playing hard to get? She had always been able to get anything she wanted from him. Had the little pushover finally grown a spine? Or was there maybe something else behind his behavior? _Roxie wasn't sure what to make of it, but she wasn't ready to give up just yet. She needed a place to stay, needed someone to take care of her, until—well, until she could get back on her feet again. She couldn't help the anger that suddenly flashed in her calculating blue eyes_. How had Velma dared throwing her out? She had only slept with Johnny after he had assured her that it was all over between him and Velma. That dirty, little liar—_

Roxie blinked and just as quickly as it had flared up, the anger was gone again--only to be replaced by an expression of mild disbelief.

"No?" Her eyes widened, unwilling to believe him. "Oh, come on, you don't mean that—" Her smile was strained as she took a step towards him, her arms outstretched. "Come here, Amos--"

He ignored her beckoning arms, bravely looking her straight in the eye instead.

"Roxie, I'm married."

His words hit her hard, like a fist, burying itself in the pit of her stomach. For a second or so, she stared at him with open astonishment then her mouth twisted.

She laughed. It was a harsh, humorless sound.

"Married, huh?" she scoffed, shooting him a disgusted look. "Well, who's the lucky one? Do I know her?" She paused to eye him speculatively before posing another question. "Let me guess, is it one of Red Sally's little whores?"

When Amos maintained his silence, she figured her suspicions confirmed. She threw her hands up--a rather theatrical gesture, he thought. "Well, I should-a known," she said bitterly, "congratulations, Amos. I hope you two are real happy."

Amos saw no need to correct her false assumptions; if she wanted to believe that he had married one of Red Sally's girls then so be it. He certainly had no desire to tell her about Annie. All he wanted right now was to get away from her as far as possible.

Roxie sensed that their encounter was quickly drawing to a close. For a beat or two, she glared at him, unsure how to proceed. This certainly had not gone as she had expected.

Her expression changed into one of feigned resignation. "Well, I guess that settles that," she said. "But you can't blame a gal for trying, right?" She smiled a small, sad smile, and Amos almost felt sorry for her—but only almost.

He shifted restlessly, more that just a little anxious to get away from her. With a nod, he vaguely indicated the street behind him. "I gotta go, Roxie," he said, clearly eager to end their conversation.

In an instant, Roxie's demeanor darkened.

"Yeah, go!" she spat, not bothering to hide her true feelings anymore, "you go home to your little whore! But I doubt that she's better than me!" _How dare he cast her aside just like that? How dare he after she spilled her heart to him, made a goddamn fool of herself?_

With a wail of frustrated rage, she suddenly threw herself at him, her fists furiously pummeling his chest. All her anger towards Velma and Johnny and everyone else she thought had wronged her, flashed in her eyes. "You bastard!" she snarled fiercely, punctuating each word by an angry blow of her fists, "You goddamn son of a bitch! You--you disloyal traitor, you!"

Completely caught off guard by her attack, Amos stumbled back a pace or two before he was able to catch himself. The lunch pail in his left hand hit the cobblestone sidewalk with a loud clank as he attempted to grab hold of her flailing fists. Luckily, he was quickly able to subdue her. His big, strong hands kept her wrists in a grip of iron, and all the flailing and kicking she did, was to no avail.

"Let go of me!" she suddenly began to shriek, "Help, police! Help! Help!"

Her screams took Amos completely by surprise. Desperately, he tried to calm her down, but his pleas only seemed to achieve the exact opposite.

Suddenly, he became aware of the sound of hurried footsteps rushing towards him from behind. Someone was angrily shouting at him. But before he could turn, he felt himself being roughly grabbed by the shoulder and spun around. A fist connected painfully with his jaw and sent him staggering backwards. He was forced to let go of Roxie.

"Get your dirty hands off of her, you son of a bitch!" his attacker hissed as he threw another punch. This time, the fist slammed squarely into Amos' face; it grazed his nose, sending blood splattering everywhere.

Dazed and disoriented, Amos shook himself, trying to comprehend what was happening; but before he had the chance to do so, he suddenly felt something hard strike him in the back of the head. In an instant, his surroundings shrank out of focus, and the last thing he remembered was the fading sound of Roxie's voice, floating to his ear like through a quickly thickening haze. "Oh, thank God, you just saved my life, mister!"

Unconscious, he crumpled onto the sidewalk.

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	3. Chapter 3

Note from the author: A big 'Thank you' to my lone reviewer Sue for the nice comment--hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

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**Chapter three**

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For what seemed like the millionth time, Annie's eyes wandered to the small table clock before her. Seven-thirty. _Where was he? He should have been home an hour ago. Amos had never been late without telling her. _Her hand moved to absently caress the by now rather prominent swell of her stomach. Maybe he just had to work late, or maybe he had gone to join his friends for a beer, she reasoned. She refused to even remotely entertain the notion that something might have happened to him. Annie decided to give him thirty more minutes. _And then what,_ she wondered. She could hardly go to the police because Amos was an hour late getting home from work. She sighed.

A sudden loud knock coming from the front door startled her from her thoughts. Her head jerked up. The concern she had been feeling transformed almost instantly into outright alarm; Amos wouldn't knock—he had a key.

Another knock, this time louder, more insistent. Annie clambered to her feet, as fast as her shifted center of gravity allowed. Maybe he had lost his keys, she reasoned as she hurried down the small hallway.

Her fingers closed on the deadbolt, but she didn't make any attempt at twisting the lever; something was telling that it wasn't Amos waiting on the other side of the door.

"Who's there?" she asked cautiously.

"Police, open up!" came the demanding reply.

The harshly spoken words sent a jolt of fear surging through her. With shaking fingers, she quickly turned the bolt.

No sooner had she unlocked the door, than a man pushed his way in. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a brown suit and matching fedora. Annie guessed him to be in his mid-fifties. He was closely followed by another police officer in uniform.

The tall man quickly looked Annie up and down, his sharp, alert eyes ever so briefly lingering on her swollen stomach. "Are you Mrs. Hart?" His booming voice had lost some of its previous edge, and he was regarding her now with an odd expression that Annie found quite disturbing. She made a valiant effort to pull herself together.

"Yes, I am," she replied, her voice shaking ever so slightly, despite her best efforts. "What's this all about?"

The man's brows narrowed slightly at her perceived boldness.

"I'm the one askin' the questions here, Mrs. Hart," he said, his tone clipped, professional, but not unkind. "My name's Detective Wilkins with the Chicago Police Department." His hand reached into his coat pocket, only to emerge a second later, now holding a leather-bound spiral notebook. With slow purpose, he started to thumb through it.

It took him a while, but finally, he seemed to have found what he had been looking for. He quickly studied his written notes then his eyes shifted from the page before him to Annie.

"Is your husband's name Amos Hart?"

Annie nodded nervously. "Yes--" Her heart was suddenly pounding wildly within her chest.

The detective gave a satisfied nod and began to scribble something into his notebook. Annie found herself sorely tempted to rip the pen from his fingers and demand an explanation as to what this was all about. She took a deep breath, determined to remain calm. "Do you know where my husband is?"

With cool precision, Wilkins pushed the pen back into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Your husband is down at the precinct, Mrs. Hart."

Annie's eyes widened with surprise.

"The precinct? What's he doin' down there? Is he all right?"

Ignoring Annie's query, Wilkins posed one of his own instead.

"Are you familiar with a Miss Roxie Peters?"

_Roxie Peters? Of course she knew of Amos' ex-wife. _Annie couldn't conceal her surprise. Her eyes widened. "Roxie's Amos' ex-wife," she said slowly. Her beseeching gaze settled on the detective again. "Would you please tell me what this is all about?"

Wilkins' eyes were cool and contemplative, but when he spoke, there was a hint of sympathy in his voice. "I hate to tell you this Mrs. Hart, but your husband's been accused of assault."

Annie crossed her arms over her chest. "Assault? Assaulting who? Roxie?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "There's got to be some kind of mistake…my husband wouldn't hurt a fly!"

The detective raised a doubtful brow.

"Well, that's not what Miss Peters claims—"

"Then she's lying!" Annie's concern was quickly turning into outrage as her famed Irish temper was beginning to get the better of her. Luckily, she realized that getting angry wouldn't accomplish anything. She took a deep breath and then ventured, "Tell me, do you know anything about Roxie Peters at all?"

Wilkins nodded with grave certainty.

"We're well aware of the spectacle she made of herself in court two years ago."

Annie sniffed satisfied.

"Well, that oughtta tell you something right there."

Wilkins shoved the notebook back into his pocket.

"Be it as it may, Mrs. Hart…I can assure you, we're gonna get to the bottom of this—one way or another. But right now, I gotta ask you to come down to the precinct with me. We need a positive ID on your husband--it's just a formality."

Annie was in agreement—at least as far as the first part of his words was concerned. They had to get to the bottom of this. She didn't believe for one moment that Amos had assaulted Roxie—no matter how much he disliked her.

Resolutely, she grabbed her crocheted shawl from the coat rack and turned towards the door. "What are you waitin' for? Take me down to your precinct, I wanna see my husband."

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The short ride in the squad car was marked by a tense silence. Annie sat alone in the rear, her mind occupied with her own, grave thoughts. She was silently staring through the side window, watching without interest as buildings and people seemed to fly past her. Her thoughts were on Amos. _Where and why did he meet Roxie? Why was Roxie accusing him of assaulting her? Why now after two years? _None of it made sense to Annie. She was convinced that it had all been a set-up. She knew that her Amos would never hurt anyone intentionally—not even Roxie Peters.

Before she knew it, the car came to a stop alongside the curb in front of the police station on South Kedzie Avenue.

The driver exited and moved to hold the door for Annie. She thanked him and then waited for Detective Wilkins to catch up with her. Her eyes took in the huge dark brick building looming before her. She had never been inside, and the sight of it alone was somewhat intimidating to her.

Detective Wilkins placed a guiding hand on her elbow. He motioned towards the broad stone stairs, which led to a huge set of wooden doors.

"This way, Mrs. Hart."

Her earlier bravado suddenly all but gone, Annie nodded quietly and allowed him to lead her up the stairs. As soon as they stepped through the big wooden double doors, they were greeted by a fluctuating mesh of voices, created by the dozens of people that moved around the building. It didn't matter where she looked; the entire precinct seemed to bustle with activity. There was a constant coming and going. Moving with the confidence and ease that only came with years of experience, the detective safely led her through the noisy throng of people, down a somewhat quieter corridor. Soon, she found herself in a small, cluttered, windowless office. Wilkins motioned to a chair, inviting Annie to take a seat.

"Sit down, Mrs. Hart, I'll get your husband." With that, he closed the door and left.

Awkwardly, Annie lowered herself into the chair. She was rather nervous, the uncertainty of Amos' fate weighing heavily on her mind. Her apprehension seemed to communicate itself directly to the fetus inside her. Gently, Annie began to rub her belly in an unconscious gesture of helpless concern. "Sshhhh, little one, ev'rything's gonna be all right. Your daddy's gonna be just fine," she soothed the tiny life moving inside her.

Annie wasn't sure how long she had been waiting, but at last, after several agonizing minutes, she heard Detective Wilkins' distinct baritone rumbling outside in the hallway. "This way, Hart," he said.

Anxiously, Annie's head turned towards the door just as it was opened from the outside. When she saw her husband enter first, nothing could have kept Annie in her chair.

"Amos!" With a small cry of joy, she threw herself at him. "Oh, Amos, I was so worried…they told--" The rest of her words never made it past her lips as she stared at him in disbelief. Her throat dried up completely, her face working in useless effort to choke back a sob. "Oh, Amos, what happened?" Her voice was barely above a whisper now. He looked terrible. His nose was swollen and bloody; his upper lip was swollen, too, sporting an ugly cut; a bruise was beginning to deepen around a blood-encrusted gash just below his left eye. To make matters worse, they had cuffed his hands behind his back, just as if he were a common criminal_. Her Amos, who was the gentlest man she had ever known. _

Amos tried giving her an upbeat smile, but it came across rather pained. "Oh, Annie, sweetheart, please don't cry," he said stricken when he saw her tears, "I'm so sorry. I told 'em not to bring you down here—"

Annie quickly sniffed back the tears. "Sshhh, it's all right." Her shaky hand reached forth to touch the tips of her fingers to his brow, gently letting them trail down the side of his mangled face. She winced when she saw the rusty blood splatters that liberally stained the front of his blue work shirt. Standing on her tiptoes, she carefully dropped a gentle kiss onto his scruffy cheek. Then her accusing gaze leveled on the detective who was still standing behind Amos. Her voice was trembling with outrage. "What did you people do to him?"

The detective raised a bushy brow at the accusation.

"We don't mistreat our suspects, Mrs. Hart," he said, sounding slightly insulted. "A couple of passersby pulled your husband off Miss Peters. As you can see, they roughed him up pretty good."

But his explanation did little to calm Annie. "You mean 'beat' him up?" she huffed angrily. She was more than just a little outraged—she was furious. "Did you arrest any of them for doin' this to him?"

Detective Wilkins shrugged.

"There was no reason for that. "

"No reason? But—" Annie was just getting started, but Amos quickly interrupted her.

"Please, honey, don't get all upset," he tried calming her, "It's just a big misunderstandin', that's all. I ain't done nothin' wrong."

Wilkins took hold of Amos' arm.

"We'll see about that, Hart." He steered Amos towards a chair next to Annie's. "Have a seat," he said as he pushed him down—much to Annie's annoyance.

Her heated gaze followed the detective as he walked around the desk where he slid into the leather-covered task chair there. In no apparent hurry, he picked up a file and began to thumb though it. "Well, I guess that settles the matter of identification." He pulled the pen from his pocket and started to scribble something into the folder. When he was done, he glanced across the desk at Annie. "You swear that this here is your husband, Amos Hart?"

Annie was incensed that he was still wasting time with his so-called 'formalities' when there were more pressing issues that needed to be dealt with.

"I do," she said impatiently.

"Good." The detective nodded satisfied. He turned the folder around to where it now faced Annie and then held his pen out to her. "Sign here then."

Annie did as she was told. When she was done, she set the pen down onto the folder. Her eyes held a glimmer of hope as she looked at Detective Wilkins. "Does that mean Amos can go home now?"

Wilkins raised a brow in mild surprise.

"What makes you think that, Mrs. Hart? Your signature was for identification purposes only." He leveled his cool eyes on Amos. "The matter of assault still remains, Hart."

Amos' weary gaze settled on the detective.

"But I ain't done nothin' wrong," he insisted miserably, "I already told you what happened." He couldn't even get upset anymore as he had done earlier when the detective had first interrogated him; he was feeling way too seedy for that now. His head was throbbing wildly and his entire body was sore from the blows that the so-called "good Samaritans" had bestowed upon him while he had lain unconscious on the sidewalk. But it all amounted to nothing compared to the pain he felt from seeing Annie in distress on the account of him.

Wilkins crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. He regarded Amos evenly, without any outward display of emotion. He couldn't afford to. In his thirty-two years with the police force, he had heard it all and seen it all. As far as he was concerned, it was guilty until proven innocent. But admittedly, in Amos' case, it was a little different. He had always prided himself on being a good judge of character, and his intuition was telling him that Amos Hart was indeed innocent. The only problem was--he had two very conflicting stories. Unless Miss Peters recanted her version of the events, there was very little he could do.

He shook his head.

"Unfortunately, your story and Miss Peter's story don't match," he pointed out the obvious.

Amos exhaled a frustrated breath.

"That's because she ain't tellin' you the truth."

Wilkins raised a bushy brow, giving Amos an appraising look.

"She's sayin' the same thing about you."

Amos sighed wearily, resignation flickering in his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured as much." He didn't care anymore; he was too tired to think, too tired to argue. All he wanted was to go home with Annie, but apparently, that wasn't about to happen.

But Annie wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Where's she at? Let me have a word with that moll." Her determined gaze was burning into Wilkins' eyes. "I promise you, I can get her to tell you the truth."

Amos groaned softly. Annie was so riled, she'd probably end up getting herself arrested, too. That was the last thing Amos wanted to see happen. "Annie, sweetheart, maybe you just oughtta go home, get some rest." He tried giving her a smile, hoping it didn't come across as bad as he felt. "I'll be fine, don't worry about me. It'll all get sorted out, you'll see."

Before Annie was able to respond, Wilkins had already pushed his chair back. He rose to his feet and came around the desk. "Your husband's right, Mrs. Hart. There's nothing more you can do for him here tonight. I'll have one of my officers take you home."

Annie shook her head stubbornly.

"I ain't goin' anywhere," she protested hotly, "not without my husband."

Wilkins heaved an imperceptible sigh; he recognized an Irish temper when he saw one. It reminded him of his wife. He shoved one hand down into his pants' pocket and scratched behind his ear with the other. "Your welcome to stay here, Mrs. Hart, but I don't see what good it would do."

For the first time, Amos was in agreement with the detective. Nothing was accomplished by her remaining here. He turned to look at Annie. Their eyes met and Amos could tell right away that she wasn't as confident as she tried to appear.

"Annie, sweetheart, please do as he says," he pleaded, "I promise you, it'll all work itself out." When she didn't respond right away, he added, "Please, think of the baby."

Annie blinked back the tears. She swallowed. As much as she didn't want to admit it, he was right—there was very little she could do tonight, and remaining here wouldn't change anything. She had to think of their baby. Her troubled eyes shifted to the detective. "All right," she said quietly, "but I'll be back first thing in the morning."

At her words, Wilkins nodded pleased and then moved to crack open the door. He stuck his head out into the corridor. "Owen, I need a man to take Mrs. Hart home. Tell Smithfield to take Mr. Hart back to his cell." He paused. "Oh, and bring me Roxie Peters."

Annie lifted her head to glance over at her husband. He looked so tired and weary, not to mention hurt and in obvious pain, that it afforded her great effort not to give in to the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Annie sniffed and then leaned over to wrap her arms around him and rest her head against his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered softly, "you hang in there, hear me?"

Amos nodded. He tried to smile and made a good attempt at it, at the same time wondering whether it looked as phony as it felt. He would have loved to gather her in his arms and hold her tightly, but his hands were still cuffed behind his back and all he could do was use his voice to offer her comfort. "I love you, too, Annie, please don't worry." Tenderly, he dropped a kiss onto her forehead and then nodded at her swollen stomach. "Take care of our baby."

Annie felt her throat convulse. She swallowed hard, forcing back the misty tears that threatened at the corners of her eyes. She managed a wan smile but her eyes betrayed her misery. "I will, I promise."

Beside them, Detective Wilkins cleared his throat. The seasoned detective suddenly couldn't help feel oddly touched by the display of affection. "Come, Mrs. Hart," he said, his rumbling voice a touch softer than usual, "it's time to go." He held out his elbow to her, the gesture more than just simple politeness; there was genuine sympathy in the way he looked at her. It wasn't lost on Annie and it gave her renewed hope. Hope, that he would do everything in his power to find the truth that would set Amos free.

Thanking him, she took hold of his elbow and slowly rose to her feet.

When they reached the door, Annie paused, turning to Amos once more.

Their eyes met again and he managed to cast her an assuring smile. Deep inside however, he felt anything but confident; he was downright scared. It wasn't so much himself he was worried about—it was Annie. She looked so lost that he wanted to comfort her, assure her that it was going to be all right. His heart clenched with pain at the fact that he was unable to do so.

"Mrs. Hart?" Detective Wilkins' query broke her trance. Reluctantly, she allowed him to lead her from the room, her eyes never leaving Amos' until the door closed behind her, cutting him off from her view.

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Outside, Wilkins stopped in front of the closed door. His gaze was on the tips of his shoes. He scratched his neck, as if searching for the proper words. "Mrs. Hart, I know you probably think that I'm a calloused man. Believe me, I've been at this for longer than I care to remember, and maybe I am--" He paused to look her straight in the eye. There was nothing but complete sincerity in the way he looked at her. "I believe your husband, Mrs. Hart, but you gotta understand that I can't just release him—not on his word alone."

Annie nodded mutely. As much as she tried not to, she understood. After all, it was Roxie's word against her husband's and unless, she recanted her story—Annie shuddered, unwilling to think further.

"Detective?" A young police officer, clad in a blue uniform had stepped up to them, demanding Wilkins attention.

"Ah, Jones," Wilkins said. He motioned towards Annie. "This is Mrs. Hart here. I want you to take her home for me." He raised a bushy brow in warning. "And make sure you mind your manners."

The young man nodded solemnly in acknowledgment and then turned to Annie. "If you follow me, please, Mrs. Hart."

Annie's eyes settled on Detective Wilkins. She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you. I know that you're gonna do your best."

Wilkins gave her a curt nod. "Good night, Mrs. Hart." The expression on his face was one of grave contemplation as he stood, motionless, watching her until she disappeared around the first corner. He allowed a small sigh to escape his lips; he had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

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Annie walked in contemplative silence, allowing the officer to guide her through the labyrinth of corridors. Several people passed them along the way but Annie didn't pay any attention to them. Suddenly, she felt the urge to lift her gaze. An officer and a woman were approaching them. The woman appeared to be about her own age, maybe a little older. Her blonde hair was cut into a fashionable bob. She appeared to be holding a rather one-sided conversation with the officer who was leading her along.

Annie frowned. Could it be possible? she wondered.

"This way, please, Mrs. Hart," the officer's voice suddenly cut into her thoughts as he prepared to make a sharp left turn.

At first, Roxie did not notice her, as she was busy batting her eyes, trying to engage the young officer who had her upper arm in a firm grasp, in small talk. Suddenly, she went silent. _Did someone just say 'Mrs. Hart?'_ Her blue eyes now focused solely on Annie whom she had just noticed. In a heartbeat, Roxie had taken it all in; the fiery red hair, freckled, plain face, no make-up—yes, it all fit. This was without doubt the kind of woman her ex-husband would have fallen for. Her lip started to curl in disdain, but then she noticed the rather prominent swell of Annie's stomach. The expression died on her lips. Her eyes now settled on Annie's face, noticing the red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Their eyes met for a beat, each woman instantly recognizing the other. But before either one could act, they had already passed each other.

Roxie craned her neck over her shoulder, her eyes continuing to follow the redhead as she quickly disappeared down the corridor, around a corner. Her desire to chat up the young officer was suddenly gone as she felt herself overcome by a strange feeling—a feeling suspiciously akin to guilt. She gave an involuntary shudder, trying to push the unwelcome sensation from her. _Who cares_, she told herself stubbornly, _Amos deserved everything he got—and then some_. Unfortunately, she was unable to feel the same about the redhead.

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	4. Chapter 4

Note from author: This chapter contains some pretty explicit, sexual scenes--done in good taste though, I'd like to think. ;) If this sort of thing offends you, please do not read any further--otherwise, enjoy!

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**Chapter four**

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"Ah, Miss Peters, fine, fine." Detective Wilkins rubbed his hands together as the blonde was led into his office. He dismissed the young officer and then offered her the chair Amos had occupied a few minutes earlier. "Have a seat."

Roxie raked the detective with an assessing glance. She did not appear to be impressed with what she saw. Gracefully, she slid into the chair, provocatively crossing one leg over the over.

"How long are you gonna keep me here?" she wondered, obviously annoyed.

Her demeanor did not impress Wilkins, and neither did the sight of her garter-clad thigh. Too many times had he seen the likes of Roxie Peters in his thirty-some-odd- years of working in law enforcement for it to have any kind of effect on him.

He regarded her calmly.

"As long as it's gonna take to sort this whole mess out," he answered coolly.

His words brought an impatient frown to Roxie's face. _Why couldn't he just believe her and let her go? _She huffed an exaggerated sigh. "I already told you what happened. Those fellas who saved me told you, too. They saw how brutally my ex-husband was assaulting me."

Wilkins shook his head.

"That's actually not quite true, Miss Peters. I had another little talk with both of them. They admitted that they saw you and Mr. Hart struggling and assumed that you were accosted by him." His emphasis was on the word '_assumed'_.

Roxie shrugged nonchalantly.

"So? What's the difference?"

Wilkins began to slowly circle the chair Roxie was perched on. He was not one who quickly lost his patience, but he decided that he was done being nice. Stopping behind Roxie, he leaned against his desk. His eyes were boring into the back of Roxie's head, his mouth was tight when he spoke. "The difference, Miss Peters, is that your version of what happened this evening will put an innocent man in prison and leave his expecting wife to fend for herself."

At his words, Roxie felt a slight pang of guilt. A mental image of the expectant young woman she had crossed paths with a few minutes earlier, suddenly popped up in her mind. She blinked, pushing the unwelcome image aside. _It's his own damn fault_, she told herself stubbornly. Her expression did not budge in its irritation. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, it's his own fault. He shouldn't have done what he did."

Wilkins pushed off the desk and walked around the chair to stop right in front of Roxie. His steel-gray eyes were regarding her with an unmistakable edge. "Do what, Miss Peters? Trying to keep you off him? Trying to keep you from attacking him? Trying to keep you quiet when you started falsely screaming for help?"

Wilkins paused for a moment to let his words sink in. Then his eyes narrowed. "You don't exactly have a reputation for being….let's just say—always straightforward."

Roxie glared up at him. Her dislike for this obnoxious cop was growing by the minute. "What do you mean?" she snapped.

"I'm talking about Frank Caseley. I'm talkin' about the murder charges against you. Your ex-husband was willing to take the blame for you. That says a lot about what kind of man he is."

Roxie merely scowled at the memory.

"Yeah, it tells you that he's not the brightest."

Wilkins regarded her coldly; if he didn't like Roxie Peters when he'd first met her, he now liked her even less. Yes, he decided, he was definitely done playing it nice.

"Let me tell you something, Miss Peters, and that's just between you and me." He bent down so that his broad face was now level with hers. "I don't believe you. I know that you're' lying to me. I don't know why you're doing this and I don't really care." Without taking his eyes off her, he pointed one finger towards the door. "Right now, I have an innocent man sitting in one of my jail cells, wondering why he's there, worrying about his expecting wife. I promise you, I'll do everything in my power to get the truth out of you—if it means letting you rot in a cell for as long as necessary, so be it." For another moment, Wilkins glared at her, making sure his words had sunk in. He straightened, but his eyes, alit with cold determination were still on her.

Roxie saw the grim line of his jaw and knew he meant every word. She swallowed hard and for once, she was at a total loss for words. When she finally found her voice, all of her earlier confidence seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

"Suppose I change my story," she now ventured cautiously, "what'll happen to me?"

Wilkins' considering gaze settled on her. Much better, he thought. He'd be willing to cut her some slack. "It's called filing a false report…that's considered a misdemeanor. You'll most likely get a slap on the wrist, but no jail time."

"And Amos?"

"Mr. Hart gets to go home."

Roxie heaved a resigned sigh. _This damn cop had her over the barrel and he knew it. Damn him and damn Amos, too. She _couldn't get herself to wish the same fate on the young redhead though. For some reason--maybe it was the baby--she just couldn't do it. Roxie fixed the detective with a capitulating glance. "All right, you win. Where do I sign?"

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_A soft smile passed across Amos' face as he gazed into the depth of her green eyes. "Welcome home, Mrs. Hart." _

_Amused, Annie regarded the man lying next to her. They were both propped up on one elbow, facing each other._

"_Welcome home? Sein' how much time I've spent here before we got married, I'd say this has been my home for the last month or so—"_

_He grinned endearingly._

"_Well, but now it's official."_

_Annie smiled at the still fresh memory of their wedding which had taken place this morning. It had been a long and exhausting, but truly memorable day. She rolled onto her back with a contented sigh, happy to be finally alone with Amos. "Hmmm...Mrs. Annie Hart," she tried out her new name, "I like it."'_

_Amos thought it was perfect, too. _

"_So do I," he agreed eagerly but then quickly added, "not that there's anything wrong with 'Sullivan'--." Amos had a lot of respect for his in-laws and would never dare to express a dislike for their surname—whether it was intentional or not._

_His words made Annie smile. She turned towards him again and trailed a finger down the side of his face, gently tracing the outline of his chin. "I like 'Hart' better. For one thing, it means no more funny stares from your neighbors."_

_Amos' head bobbed in agreement. "Yeah, and no more 'when're you gonna make an honest woman outta her, Amos?'"_

_They both chuckled. How many times did they have to listen to those words from friends and family? Their eyes met again and as their laughter subsided, his face became serious, an expression she'd come to know all too well in the few short months she had known him. His hand reached forth to toy with the silk strap of the slip she was wearing. For a moment, he stared at it, seemingly fascinated with it. Then he lifted his warm gaze to hers again._

"_You know what it also means?" he wondered softly._

_Annie shook her head slightly. She found herself captured by the deep desire that shone so brightly in his eyes._

"_It means no more 'be careful, Amos'." His fingers slid beneath the silken strap, sliding it down over her shoulder so that the lacy edge was now barely cupping her breasts._

_Annie smiled in silent agreement, his husky murmur touching her as much as the meaning behind his words. His eyes, full of passion and desire were still locked with hers as he leaned over her, bringing his face closer. On their own accord, Annie's eyes closed when she felt his lips touching hers. _

"_Annie," he whispered, his voice brushing across her lips, "It's our wedding night, we're married now. We don't have to be careful anymore, right?" His finger trailed persuasively down the side of her throat to the gentle swell of her breast where it toyed with the lacy edge of her slip, pushing it aside to expose one perfect breast._

_She moaned in response, a soft whimpering sound that told him everything he wanted to know. Gently, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her deeply. _

"_No, you don't have to be careful anymore," she whispered breathlessly when they broke apart a moment later. _

"_Good," he said hoarsely as he began to ease the slip down to her hips, "'cause tonight, I'm gonna make you a baby, Annie." His calloused fingers were gliding over her firm breast with obvious pleasure, and Annie couldn't tell which made her tremble more--his teasing touch or his so utterly erotic statement, made with a bold confidence, she'd never seen in him before. _

_Smiling sensuously, Amos dipped his head to kiss the freckled swell of her breast. "We're gonna have ourselves a cute little Annie," he murmured against her soft skin as he glanced up at her._

_She giggled. "What's wrong with a little Amos?"_

"_Well, or a little Amos," he amended, giving her another one of his endearing smiles. His gaze turned to his hands again as they finished stripping the slip off her completely, revealing to him her body in its entire beauty. The smile disappeared, giving way to an expression of awe and raw desire. "God, you're so beautiful, Annie." His study of her was intensely personal. Arousing. Annie could feel his heated gaze burning on her, and even though it wasn't the first time he had seen her naked, it still made her blush a little._

_Before she could say anything, he kissed her again and let his hand slide down her side, reveling in the warm softness of her skin. Annie sighed and let her own hands run along his back, turning her head to the side so that he could continue to kiss the soft skin there. Amos' lips moved down to the hollow of her neck and then back to her ear. "I want you, Annie," he whispered, followed by, "you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." She smiled and whispered, "flatterer" as he continued to trail persuasive kisses over her collarbone, down to the enticing swell of her breasts. _

_Annie moaned softly. Her fingers tangled in his curls, guiding his head down to her breasts. Amos lifted his gaze to her face, shrouded in shadow, and dimly thought how lucky he was. Not just to be able to make love to Annie, but that he knew her at all. _

"_Please, Amos," she begged, and he dipped his head again, lowering his mouth to her breasts to capture one taut nipple between his lips. Gently at first, he suckled it with slow enjoyment. The skin on the breast tasted no different than that of her neck, or her stomach or the flesh over her ribs, but to him it was incredible. Slowly, deliberately, his lips trailed down to kiss the underside of the breast while his large hand covered the one he was not kissing, squeezing, kneading the firm mound. Beneath him, Annie was arching herself into him against the delicious sensations his administrations evoked. Her hands tugged on his hair, guiding him, showing him exactly what she wanted him to do. _

_Amos followed her lead willingly; nothing gave him more pleasure. Moving back up to the nipple, he took it into his mouth again. It was warm, moist and firm, and he tugged on it slightly, knowing she liked it. Her soft sounds of pleasure quickly confirmed his thoughts. He suckled harder, working the nipple into a stiffened peak before lavishing the same attention on its twin._

"_Oh, yes, Amos…" Annie found it impossible to keep still. Her fingers threaded through his rumpled hair and she urged his face up to hers to kiss him. Her hand moved down to his undershirt, tugging at it. He sat up and pulled it off, leaving nothing but the pajama bottoms on. Her warm hand splayed across his chest, toying with the sparse scattering of soft curls there. "I want you, Amos," she whispered.  
_

_Amos groaned in response; how he loved to hear her say those four, sweet words. For a moment, he simply gazed down at her. In the dim light of their bedroom he could make out her eyes just enough to see the love and passion reflected in them. Then he leaned over her and his mouth claimed hers again with unbridled desire. He knew that he wasn't the most skillful of lovers, but what he lacked in experience, he more than made up in attentiveness, in his desire to please her. The fact that he was a quick learner also came in handy._

_Amos propped himself up beside her, his fingers stroking, teasing the soft inside of her thighs. Annie moaned her approval and parted her thighs invitingly at his persuasive touch. _

_Emboldened by her response, his eager fingers sought out the warm dampness between her legs that he had claimed before. His knowing fingers quickly found the spot inside that swelled at his touch, teasing forth a gasp of delight from her. _

"_Don't stop, please," she breathed._

_Smiling, he obliged, continuing his administrations while his mouth alternated to suckle her nipples just the way he knew she liked it. Despite his own clamoring need, he tried his best to take it slow, making sure that she was enjoying their lovemaking as much as he did; but as he quickly came to realize, Annie was more than ready. _

"_Amos, please," she begged him, moving impatiently against his fingers inside her. She could feel the firm evidence of his arousal pressing hard against her thigh, and all she could think of was how much her body ached for him. __Unable to voice her need, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him hard against her. _

"_Jeez, Annie—" Amos__ smiled down at her, but the tightness of his mouth revealed his own struggle for control. In a flash, he had rid himself of his pajama bottoms. He moved atop of her, bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders__ as he fitted himself between her legs. His mouth found hers again, kissing her hard, all pretense of tenderness now gone._

"_Amos—" __Annie arched her back and angled her hips to meet his, her body throbbing with her own overwhelming need--need he had created, need only he could satisfy. She could feel him at her entrance, pushing eagerly. Annie__ wrapped her legs around his waist and impatiently thrust up against him. They both moaned at the feeling of completion as he slid home. Amos shuddered. He was throbbing wildly within her, the need to move overwhelming. But he managed not to move just yet; instead, he kissed her again, determined to make sure she took pleasure first. Annie gave a whimper, deliberately clenching her inner muscles around him. The action drew a groan from deep within him, and he began to thrust in slow, measured strokes. _

_His move was deeply appreciated. Annie sighed her satisfaction and began to meet his thrusts. Through her haze of desire, she watched his face as he gritted his teeth and pulled out almost all the way, then plunged back in. Their ragged breathing punctuated the air, mingling as he dipped down to kiss her briefly once, then again. She writhed beneath him, her legs curled around his waist, feeling the sensuous glide as he filled her, pulled back, then thrust again._

_Amos was nearing the edge, too quick. The need for release became overwhelming, sending a wave of sweat beading across his skin. And when Annie leaned up to nibble gently at his shoulder, he nearly lost it right then and there. With a soft command, he pushed her back, before gritting his teeth and picking up the rhythm. _

_Within minutes, Annie felt the exquisite sensation take hold deep inside her, building and building until she could no longer hang on. "Amos—" she cried out, bucking against him, her nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. "Oh, yes—"_

_At her climax, Amos' own body tensed, a low, tortured groan rising from deep within his chest as she arched against him. _

"_God…Annie—" Her name burst from his throat as he thrust again and again, unable to hold off any longer. With one final surge he drove into her, then his entire body went rigid, trembling as he emptied himself inside her over and over. Completely spent, he collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the bed. He was breathing heavily, his sweaty forehead buried in her shoulder. _

_But Annie didn't protest. She loved the feel of his body against her own, loved to feel the heat of his skin, the strong pounding of his heart. Smiling, she raised a hand to brush back the damp curls scattered over his brow. After a few minutes though, needing to breathe, she reluctantly tapped his back. "Amos?" she whispered, not sure whether he had fallen asleep. _

_Still a little out of breath, Amos sighed contentedly. "Hmmm…feels so good," he murmured against her warm skin. _

_Annie giggled softly. "Amos, you're gettin' heavy—"_

"_Oh, honey, I'm so sorry--" He hastily braced on his forearms and rolled off her with a reluctant, but satisfied moan. _

_Right away, Annie snuggled against him, reveling in the warmth and comfort he exuded. "I wish we could stay like this forever," she sighed against his sweat-dampened chest. He brought his arm around her shoulder, pulling the warm comforter up to cover them both. "Me, too," he whispered quietly into her hair, "me, too." He dropped a tender kiss onto the top of her head. "I love you so much, honey." _

_There was more he wanted to say, tell her how much she meant to him, how happy she made him, but Amos had never been very good with words. So he simply held her tight, the simple gesture communicating all his complicated thoughts to her. _

_Soon, her breathing had softened to a slow, even sigh and Amos knew that she had fallen asleep. But he continued to hold her tight, until, he, too finally succumbed to sleep._

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"Wake up, Hart," a harsh voice suddenly cut into his pleasant dreams, "Detective Wilkins wants to see you."

Amos groaned in response, for one blessed moment still caught up in that merciful state between sleep and awareness where nothing seemed to matter.

"Hey, wake up I said!" the voice sounded again, this time rather annoyed. The wall-mounted, wooden cot he was lying on suddenly rocked forcefully as someone gave it an impatient kick.

In an instant, Amos jerked awake.

Stiff and sore, he hurriedly struggled to a sitting position before the other could kick his bedstead again. He had barely swung his legs over the edge of the cot when he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and roughly yanked to his feet.

"You deaf or somethin'?" the officer growled impatiently, "I told you to get up!" He pushed Amos face first into the nearest wall. "Get your hands behind your back, Hart!"

Amos sucked in a sharp breath as his already bruised face made contact with the rough brick wall. Almost immediately, he could feel warm blood trickling from his nose again. It was briefly pooling on his upper lip from where it soon began to drip onto the concrete floor in thick, crimson droplets. Instinctively, Amos pressed the back of his hand against his nose, attempting to staunch the flow.

"I said get your hands behind your back, damn it!" Ignoring Amos' plight, the officer roughly placed his forearm against the back of Amos' neck, pinning his face against the wall. His other hand grabbed Amos' wrist, painfully twisting it behind his back.

Amos let out a yelp of pain, but it only drew a snicker from the officer. "You're not so tough now, Hart, eh?"

Amos sniffed back the blood that was still trickling from his nose, the metallic taste of it harsh and unpleasant in his mouth.

"I already told you, I ain't done nothing wrong," he gritted through clenched teeth as the other continued to cuff him swiftly.

But his declaration of innocence only elicited a nasty chuckle from the other and earned Amos another shove. "Yeah, that's what they all say." The officer took hold of Amos' upper arm and pushed him out into the corridor. "Let's go, I ain't got all day to waste with you!"

.

.

Ten minutes later, an exhausted and confused Amos found himself sitting in the same chair Annie had sat in two hours earlier. His hands, unbound now, were in his lap, holding his cap and dented lunch pail. Across the cluttered desk, he stared at Detective Wilkins, disbelief etched into his weary and battered features.

"You mean I can go home? Just like that?" he asked.

Wilkins nodded. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were warm.

"You're a free man, Mr. Hart. Go home and take care of your wife." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a rare, pleased smile_. If only every case were as simple to solve_, he thought.

Amos still couldn't believe it.

"But how—why?" he rubbed his neck, trying to make sense of it all, "did Roxie--"

"Yes," Wilkins, finished the sentence for him, "she finally decided to tell the truth."

Amos nodded slowly, digesting the good news. Thanks to the officer who had brought him here, his head was once again pounding sharply, making it difficult to think.

Wilkins rose to his feet and came around the desk.

"I'll have an officer take you home, " he offered as he headed for the door.

Amos leveled his tired gaze at the detective, shaking his head. He had spent more time than he cared to remember in the company of several, rather unkind officers today, he definitely did not want to be taken home by another one.

"No--no, that's all right," he said quickly, "I think, I'd rather walk—if you don't mind."

Wilkins gave a shrug.

"Suit yourself, Hart."

Slowly, Amos clambered to his feet. His bruised face and body were aching, and he was very hungry.

"Hold on a minute," Wilkins' voice suddenly stopped him. He held out a handkerchief. "If you don't wanna end up back here, you should probably get yourself cleaned up a bit first.

Gratefully, Amos accepted the handkerchief and headed over to the small washbasin, Wilkins had pointed out to him.

Although he already had a notion that he wasn't going to be a pretty sight, Amos was still somewhat shocked as he saw his likeness in the milky, chipped mirror. His blood-encrusted nose, although swollen and sore, was luckily not broken, but his puffy, upper lip sported a sizeable cut, and the nasty gash below his left eye had left a trail of dried blood on the side of his face. Cautiously, his hand reached up to examine the enormous lump on the back of head. He flinched and sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers encountered another blood-crusted gash there.

Wilkins nodded at Amos' reflection in the mirror.

"You definitely look a little worse for wear, Hart."

Amos quirked a half smile; it was about all he could manage without causing the cut on his lip to bleed again. "Yeah, you can say that again."

He wetted the handkerchief a little and began to carefully wipe the blood from his face. When he was satisfied with the results, he turned to Wilkins once more.

"I wanna thank you for ev'rything you've done, sir," he said extending his hand.

Wilkins took the proffered hand and shook it. His handshake was brief but firm and his eyes were warm and friendly.

"Don't show your mangled face around here again, Hart."

Amos managed a lopsided smile. He had no intentions to.

"I think I can do that."

"Good, I should hope so." Wilkins moved to open the door for him. "Go on, get outta here," he grumbled, "it's getting' late." His tone was gruff but his eyes were positively smiling.

Amos put on his cap. He started to walk out the door, but stopped when he was level with the detective. A shy smile flashed across his battered features as he made brief eye contact. "Good night, sir."

Wilkins nodded, but said nothing more. He watched as Amos made his way down the by now deserted corridor, his slow step testament to his exhaustion. When Amos was out of sight, he pulled a silver pocket watch from his coat pocket. He quickly glanced at its face. _Almost midnight_. He sighed. Amos Hart was a lucky man. Lucky, because he was going home to a loving wife. At his home, no one had waited for him since his beloved wife had died five years ago. It was rare days like this, when justice prevailed, that renewed his faith in humanity, made it all worthwhile. He plucked a cigarette from his coat pocket and lit it. Allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts, he took a deep draw of the smoke and let it out slowly, watching as it curled past his face; he wished there could be more days like this.

.

.

Although the police station was no more than eight blocks from their home, it took Amos almost an hour to cover the short distance. He was more than just a little relieved when he finally stumbled over the threshold of his apartment building. Moments later, his tired fingers turned the key in the lock and the door sprung open with its so-familiar squeak.

For a second, Amos simply stood quietly in the darkness, listening for any signs of life. But everything was calm, telling him that Annie was fast asleep. He smiled at that. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he switched on the kitchen light and began to remove his coat and then his bloodied shirt.

He was exhausted, having reached his physical limit hours ago, but he was also still very hungry. Looking around, he noticed the cast iron pot on the stove. Upon closer examination, he found that the pot contained what would have been his dinner; potato soup. Thanks to the insulating properties of the cast iron, the soup was actually still a little warm. Not that it would have mattered to Amos; by now he was so starved that he probably would have eaten the potatoes raw.

Soon, he was contentedly sitting at the kitchen table, feasting on Annie's delicious potato soup and a piece of buttered bread.

.

The next morning came early for Annie. She wasn't quite sure what had woken her from her dreamless sleep. Yawning, she stretched a little and then turned to glance at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It was almost five-thirty in the morning. The sun had just risen, its early rays filtering mutely through the drawn curtains. Annie's gaze automatically turned to the spot beside her. It was empty. A shuddering breath expanded her lungs as the full memory of yesterday's events started to come back to her. Annie pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, determined to go down to the police station as soon as possible.

Suddenly, she thought she'd heard a noise coming from somewhere beyond the bedroom. Annie stilled, listening intently. Yes, there it was again. It sounded almost like…like soft snoring?

She listened again—the sound was suddenly quite familiar to her. As quickly as her condition allowed, Annie struggled to her feet. _Could it really be? _ She grabbed her shawl, hastily draping it around her shoulders before she left the room.

She didn't have to go very far; as soon as she entered the kitchen, she found the source of the noises. There, sitting slumped over at the kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms, was—Amos! Judging by the soft noises he made, he was sound asleep.

In an instant, Annie had crossed the kitchen. _Amos_. She couldn't believe it; he was really, truly home. Her assessing gaze quickly looked him over, noting with anguish the dried blood that crusted his hair and the nape of his neck.

Annie bent down to drop a tender kiss onto his curly head.

He shifted a little then raised his head to crack open one eye.

"Annie?" he murmured sleepily.

She smiled down at him. "Good mornin'," she whispered softly. _He was home. She did not know how or why, and it didn't really matter. He was home and that was all that mattered._

In an instant, Amos was awake. He pushed the chair back and jumped to his feet to pull her into his embrace. "Oh, Annie," he murmured into her hair as he held her close. His chin was resting on the top of her head and he reveled in the so-familiar scent of her hair. Then he pulled back slightly. He looked down at her, his apologetic eyes holding hers. "Annie, sweetheart, I'm so sorry for puttin' you through all this, I didn't mean for this to happen."

She gazed up at him and smiled warmly. "I know, Amos, I know."

Her concerned eyes lingered on his face as her fingertips gently stroked his cheek. The bruise under his left eye was beginning to turn an ugly shade of purple and the gash definitely looked as if it could use a few stitches. She sighed. "You look terrible."

Amos' own hand came up to cover hers. He gave her a weary smile. "Yeah, that's what I've been told." He brought her hand to his mouth to tenderly brush his mangled lips to her fingers. "It doesn't matter, honey, ev'rything's all right now," he murmured softly as he wrapped her in his arms again, burying his face in her hair. _Later, there would be enough time to explain to her what had happened—but right now, it didn't matter. All he wanted to do was hold her tightly. _

Annie nodded against him, unable to speak. The terrible apprehension that had lain heavy on her heart was finally ebbing from her body as she rested her cheek against his warm chest, the steady beat of his heart a welcome resonance in her ear.

For what seemed a long time neither one spoke as they simply stood in each other's embrace, coming to terms with the fact that the nightmare was finally and truly over. Slowly, gradually, their bodies began to relax, their breathing and heartbeats becoming attuned. Amos sighed softly.

Not for one moment could he imagine what his life would be without Annie--much less how Roxie thought that she could take her place. Amos pushed the thought from his mind; he never wanted to waste another moment thinking about Roxie as long as he lived.

.

.TBC

PS: If you enjoyed this story so far (or even if you didn't), won't you please let me know? I got an unbelievable amount of hits on this story, but virtually no feedback....I'm trying to figure whether it is because people are too embarrassed to do so?! If I, per chance, missed the mark with my story and offended someone, I would like to know and I will delete it. :)


	5. Chapter 5

NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Here's the rest of the story. I know that it's quite long and not very spectacular, but it concludes the story nicely I thought. Thank you to those of you who reviewed. :)

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One month later.

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Lunch pail in hand, Amos stood in the doorway, ready to head out to work. But he hesitated, his worried eyes resting on the enormous swell of Annie's belly. The projected due date had come and gone without anything happening and Amos couldn't help but feel a little concerned by now.

"Promise me you gonna take it easy today, get some rest, honey." He smiled at her, but his eyes betrayed the apprehension he felt.

Annie sighed in response. For the last week or so, Amos had been hovering over her like an over-bearing mother hen, not wanting her to do the slightest chore around the house. Granted, pregnancy had a way of making a woman miserable when she was forty-one weeks along in the height of summer, but still, she didn't like being treated like an invalid.

"All right, I promise," she agreed a little too quickly, "but only if you stop worryin'."

Amos frowned_. How could he not worry_? His eyes moved to Annie's stomach again. She had gotten rather big, and despite the fact that he found her absolutely beautiful in her current state, he had no doubt that it had to be quite uncomfortable. He couldn't help but pity her. His face softened into a smile. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek and bent down to kiss her.

"Look, I'll be home for lunch, all right? If you need anythin' have Mrs. Smith help you."

His words elicited another sigh. "I'll manage just fine, Amos." She gave him a friendly clap on the arm. "Go, on, you're gonna be late."

Amos slapped on his cap. For another moment, he hesitated. "Well, I guess, I'll see you later then," he said at last. He gave her one final, quick peck on the cheek and with that, left.

Annie stood on the doorstep, listening to the fading echo of his heavy footsteps as he hurried down the flight of stairs. As soon as she heard the door downstairs close behind him, she made her way back into the kitchen to grab the laundry basket from the table. For one brief moment, she felt a slight pang of guilt as she lifted the basket full of dirty clothes, remembering her promise to Amos. But she brushed it quickly aside, reasoning that he could hardly expect other people to do their laundry. Besides, she was not sick, she was only expecting a baby.

With that, she added a box of soap flakes to the basket and headed downstairs to the basement where the old wringer-style washing machines, the tenants shared, were located.

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.

Two hours later, Annie was standing outside in the sunny courtyard, humming softly to herself as she was hanging up the freshly laundered clothes to dry.

Several small children were engaged in a loud game of catch, their shouts and giggles echoing off the buildings surrounding them.

She smiled as she watched a small girl of maybe three giggle with delight as she chased after a little boy, her chubby arms outstretched towards him. The little boy slowed his step to allow her to almost catch up with him, but when she was almost close enough to touch him, he quickly jumped aside, eluding her little hands at the last second.

Awkwardly, Annie reached down into the basket. A few days ago, the baby had settled low in her belly and now the pressure was steadily increasing, adding to her discomfort.

The pain struck her suddenly and without warning. With a gasp, she doubled over, her arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her stomach. A freckle-faced boy of maybe five or six noticed. He came closer and regarded her curiously. "What's the matter, Annie?"

The pain was slowly beginning to ebb off. Annie took a shaky breath. "Go get your mommy, Jimmy, quick!" she urged him.

For another second, the little boy gaped at her, uncertain, but then he nodded and ran off as quick as his small feet could carry him.

Unable to stand any longer, Annie dropped down into the soft grass, just as the crippling pain returned with full intensity. With a cry of agony, she curled up into a ball against the paralyzing waves, sweat breaking from every pore. Even though she had been given tons of good advice, nothing could have prepared her for the pain that she was now experiencing. She suddenly wished that Amos had stayed home.

It wasn't before long that Annie became aware of the rebounding echo of hurried footfall. Someone was approaching. Moments later, she found Mary's concerned face hovering above her.

Mary took one quick look at her. "Oh, my, I think we better get you upstairs, Annie, " she said.

.

Ten minutes later, Annie was back in the bedroom of their flat, feeling rather scared and shaken. She was extremely grateful that Mary had taken charge, instructing everyone as to what needed to be done. Mrs. Smith was sent to fetch Dr. Muller and Mrs. Dowdy, the midwife and Jimmy was being instructed to get Amos down at the garage.

With a gentle clap on his backside that conveyed the urgency of the matter, Mary sent her young son off. "Run as fast as you can, Jimmy!" she called after him. Then she turned her attention back to Annie who, despite the heat, looked decidedly pale.

She clapped her hands together, casting Annie an upbeat smile. "Well, looks like this is finally it, dear. How're you feeling?"

Annie only groaned in response, too miserable to appreciate Mary's cheerful demeanor. "Lousy. You didn't tell me that it's gonna hurt like that—"

Mary quirked a smile. "What…and scare you unnecessarily?" She moved around the bed and began to take off Annie's shoes.

Annie's eyes narrowed. She glared at her friend. "Thanks a lot," she grumbled, "so much for bein' straightforward."

But Mary only chuckled in response. "C'mon, let's get you comfortable, girl," she said as she began to help Annie undress and change into her nightgown. "I hate to tell you this, but it's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better."

.

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At the garage.

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"Over, move it over to the left…yeah…almost got it...just a little more—" The clinking of a wrench alternated with Amos' instructions as he worked to bolt down the motor mount on the engine of a Ford Coupe. "Yes,…got it!" came his triumphant exclamation a short moment later.

Tully smiled his approval when a rather greasy and sweaty Amos emerged from underneath the automobile. "Well done, lad," he said pleased.

Amos grinned proudly; nothing felt better than the rare word of praise from his boss. Well, nothing except—

His mind suddenly turned to Annie again. The grin slid off his face, only to now be replaced by a quickly deepening expression of concern. Lunchtime was still several, long hours away; what if?--

Amos suddenly wished he had insisted on Mrs. Smith or Mary staying with Annie.

But before he could dwell on it any further, a sudden loud commotion roused him abruptly from his thoughts.

Amos turned and saw Michael Finnegan standing near the door. He was dangling a squirming little boy by the scruff of his shirt.

"Hey, looky here what I found sneakin' around the garage," he exclaimed. He brought the little fellow up so that he was now within inches from his face. "What're ya tryin' to do?" he demanded harshly, shaking him a little, "tryin' to steal stuff, huh?" It wouldn't have been the first time that some street urchin had found his way into the garage ,trying to misappropriate tools and other items of value.

"Let go of me," the boy complained loudly, not in the least intimidated by Finnegan, "I ain't stealin' nothing! I gotta see Amos!" He was squirming and kicking wildly, but the big man was holding him firmly in his unrelenting grasp.

Finnegan looked at him surprised.

"Amos?" he asked, "what kinda business—"

"Put the cub down, Finnegan," Tully suddenly cut in, "let's hear what he's gotta say."

Tully crouched down and waved the boy over. "C'mere, little fella," he said kindly, "let's hear it."

But as soon as the boy's feet hit the ground, he darted past Tully, straight towards Amos.

"Amos," he huffed and puffed as he protectively clutched Amos' leg, "my momma wants ya ta come home right away!"

Amos crouched so that he was now at eye level with the little boy. He recognized him at once as being one of Mary's young ones.

"What's the matter, Jimmy?"

The little boy jumped up and down with excitement, his small arms flapping like a baby bird's, about to take flight for the first time. "Momma says fer you ta come home…Annie's havin' a baby!"

"Annie's havin' the baby?!" In an instant, Amos was back on his feet.

"Annie's havin' the baby," he muttered again and then his eyes went wide as it hit him. "Annie's havin' the baby!" He looked around wildly. "Oh, my God, I gotta get home!"

Amos' co-workers were now chuckling—it was quite apparent that this Amos' first baby.

Kieran Tully gave Amos an encouraging clap on the shoulder.

"Go on, Amos, get yourself home," he said, "Annie's gonna need you."

Seamus snickered at that.

"Yeah, she'll need him all right—so she can bite his blasted head off!"

Finnegan burst out laughing. "Ain't that the truth!"

He poked a fleshy finger at Amos' chest. "Take my advice, don't go home just yet—go to Molly's first an' have yourself a couple o' cold ones." He winked. "Trust me—you'll be glad you did."

Amos wasn't sure what to make of Finnegan's 'advice'. But before he had the chance to respond, Tully had already stepped in. He raised his hands to silence everyone.

"Will yen's all just shut up, blast ye?!" he boomed loudly, "the lad doesn't need yer blarney!" He placed an assuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Don't pay 'em any mind, Amos. Go on home an' take care of Annie—we'll manage here."

Amos smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Tully."

Tully chuckled and then winked. "Good luck to ya, lad—you'll need it."

Amos' mind was positively reeling now. "Thanks," he managed to mutter absently as he scrambled to clean his grime- covered hands and put away his tools.

''Don't say, we didn't warn ya!" chuckled Finnegan. His words earned him a not exactly gentle nudge to his ribs from Seamus. "Ouch!" he protested, "whatcha do that for?"

But Amos wasn't listening anymore; all he could think of was Annie and the baby she was about to have. _Their baby._ Quickly, he swept little Jimmy up into his arms to hurry home.

.

Amos covered the twenty-minute walk in ten minutes flat. A little out of breath, he arrived at the entrance to the apartment building where he set the little boy down. "Thanks, Jimmy," he said as he quickly dug in his pocket for some change. He handed Jimmy two pennies. "Go an' get yourself somethin' nice at o' Connor's."

"Gee, thanks, Amos!" The little boy flashed him a quick, gap-toothed smile before he bolted out the door to turn his newly found wealth into something sweet and sticky.

Amos hastily fished the key from his pocket. _He was about to become a daddy_. He had waited so long for this moment and now that it was finally here—he found that he was suddenly a little scared. He wasn't sure what to expect and it made him more than just a little nervous. But his desire to be with Annie overrode all of his fears. He could hear the muffled sound of several voices coming from the kitchen. Quickly, he inserted the key and turned it in the lock.

Inside, he was greeted by Mary and Mrs. Smith, an elderly lady who lived in the flat below. Both were busy in the kitchen, boiling water and preparing towels. Amos acknowledged the women with a quick nod and then looked around. "Where's Annie?" he wondered anxiously.

Mary's head indicated the bedroom. "Doc Muller and and Mrs. Dowdy are with her." She paused and smiled assuring when she saw the look of apprehension on Amos' face. "There ain't nothin' to worry about, Amos…she's comin' along nicely."

Amos regarded her puzzled. "Comin' along nicely?" he echoed, not sure what she meant by that. He was about to ask her to elaborate, but just then, Annie let out an agonizing wail. In an instant, Amos vaulted towards the bedroom, clearing the threshold at such speed that he almost collided with Doc Muller.

"Annie—" he started to call out to her after he'd caught himself, but he stopped short, when he saw her pretty, freckled face contorted in pain.

Annie turned towards him.

"YOU!" she hissed through clenched teeth, "this is all _your _fault!" Her teeth dug into her bottom lip to hold back another cry, but she was only partially successful. "Arghhh---it hurts!"

Amos' jaw dropped. "Sweetheart, are you—" he started to say, but Annie wouldn't let him finish.

"Get out! I don't ever wanna see you again!" She managed to pull out one of the pillows from behind her back, flinging it at Amos with all the strength she could muster. "Get out! Damnu air!"

Amos stood frozen with shock. He knew that Annie could be quite lively at times, but never before had she sworn at him—and certainly not in Gaelic. All he could do was stare at her, dumbstruck. But his shock instantly turned into apprehension again when she suddenly cried out with the onset of another contraction.

Before Amos was able to make another attempt at calming her, Dr. Muller had already placed a comforting but firm hand on his forearm. Gently, he steered the bewildered father-to-be back towards the door. "Come on, Amos, I think you'd better wait outside."

But Amos couldn't get himself to take his eyes off Annie. Her entire body had gone stiff as it was taken over by the forceful contraction. Her face was a mask of pain.

His heart clenched at the sight.

"But, but—" Amos craned his neck over his shoulder to stare at her helplessly,

"can't you do anything? I mean—" He fixed his beseeching gaze on the doctor's. "Can't you see that she's hurtin'?"

The old physician gave an understanding nod.

"Everything is going just fine, Amos," he assured him, "you just have to trust me there. Annie's not the first woman to have a baby."

Annie let out a blood-curdling scream, followed by a string of obscenities that would have made any sailor blush.

Amos' eyes went wide, but before he had a chance to say anything else, Dr. Muller had already pushed him over the threshold, back into the living room.

"Go get yourself a cup of coffee, Amos," he suggested in his heavy German accent, "Frau Schmidt just made a fresh pot." With that he shut the door, cutting Annie off from his view.

.

Amos let out a frustrated breath as he absently raked a hand though his hair. He was struggling to get over the shock of seeing his beloved Annie in so much pain. Apparently, everyone else seemed to think that it was perfectly normal_. How was he supposed to know what was to be considered normal? _He had never witnessed a childbirth before.

Amos found it all outright confusing, not to mention scary. But the by far most confusing thing was the fact that Annie didn't seem to want him there. He'd never seen her this mad before. He began to seriously wonder whether there was some truth to Seamus and Michael's words.

"C'mere, lad, sit an' have a cup o' coffee." Mrs. Smith's kindly spoken words roused him from his unsettling thoughts. The little, old gray-haired lady shuffled over to the stove to pour a cup of the freshly made brew. "Here, it'll do ya good. " Smiling warmly, she held the steaming mug out to Amos.

Amos nodded absently, his worried gaze still fixed on the closed bedroom door.

"Thanks, Mrs. Smith," he said politely.

The muffled sound of Annie's cries of agony rang in his ears, cutting him to the very core. He let out a shuddering breath—never had he felt so helpless before.

Mary cast him a sympathetic glance. "If it's getting' too much for you, Amos, do what Will always does—go down to Molly's for a little while. I'll send Jimmy to get you when it's time."

Amos shook his head. His eyes were blankly staring at the murky contents of the coffee mug in his hands. Although he was of little help to Annie at the moment, he still wouldn't even remotely consider leaving the flat, not even for a minute.

He managed to give Mary a little smile. "No, I don't think so--but thanks all the same."

.

Back inside the bedroom, things were progressing just as expected.

"You're almost there, Annie," announced Mrs. Dowdy cheerfully after she finished checking on Annie's progress.

Old Doc Muller nodded satisfied. "That's a girl," he said smiling.

But Annie was only half-listening. Exhausted, her head was resting against her pillow, her eyes closed. The contractions were so close together now, she barely had time to recover between them.

Mrs. Dowdy took a damp washcloth and gently dapped Annie's sweat-laced forehead. The coolness of the rag against her hot skin felt good, reviving her somewhat. She turned to the midwife. "Where's Amos?"

"He's in the kitchen with Mrs. Smith." Mrs. Dowdy stroked a few stray curls off Annie's forehead.

Annie took hold of the midwife's hand.

"Please go an' tell him that I'm sorry…tell him—arghhhh!" Another contraction suddenly hit her with full force before she could finish her sentence. Crying out with the intensity of it, Annie arched herself off the bed. Her knuckles went white as she dug her fingers into the sheets. It was over within a few seconds. Limply, she collapsed back against the pillows to catch her breath before the onset of the next contraction. "Never mind," she whispered weakly, not sure how much more of this she could take. "Just kill him for me, will you?"

Mrs. Dowdy chuckled. Too many times had she heard those words spoken by an agitated wife in labor to take them seriously. She knew how quickly those words of anger where forgotten once the new mother held her child for the first time.

.

Back in the kitchen, Amos had taken to nervously pacing the floor. Annie's heart-wrenching cries were coming more frequent now, and with every one, his own heart seemed to stop until it was over, only to painfully stutter back into action until the next one. He felt responsible for her pain, at the same time guilty for not being able to ease it. What made matters even worse was the fact that he was unable to be with her and offer her comfort. It was just so frustrating!

There was a knock on the front door.

"I'll get it," said Mary before Amos could pull himself from his thoughts.

A moment later, Mrs. Sullivan came bustling into the kitchen. She was a beautiful, pleasingly plump woman in her fifties. With her fiery red hair done up in a modest bun and her freckled face, it wasn't difficult to see who Annie had inherited her looks from.

"Ah, Amos m'dear!" She rushed straight towards him with outstretched arms to plant a quick, affectionate kiss on his cheek. "How are you and how's my Annie?"

Amos scratched his head, not exactly sure how to answer that. "I reckon, she's doin' all right," he said with a shrug after brief hesitation, "at least that's what ev'ryone else is sayin'--"

Right away, a knowing smile began to curve Mrs. Sullivan's lips. The unspoken hurt in his voice was nothing new to her; she had heard it many times before in the voices of distraught, young fathers-to-be. She clucked. "Has Annie been sayin' mean things to you?" Her voice was full of sympathy as she gave Amos' cheek an encouraging pat.

Amos stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy trousers, his troubled gaze on the tips of his shoes. He managed a small nod, secretly grateful that somebody took interest in how he felt. He shuffled a little. "She doesn't even wanna see me," he grumbled dejectedly.

"Oh, blarney," Mrs. Sullivan waved him off immediately, "you just wait and see—as soon as that baby's here, she won't even remember."

Amos lifted his eyes and gazed at her hopefully. "You think so?"

She smiled confidently in response, giving his cheek another consoling pat.

"I know so."

Her comforting words of assurance made Amos feel a little better. But just then, another blood-curdling cry came from the adjoining room. He groaned softly and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately that he could be with Annie to comfort her.

Mrs. Sullivan quickly removed her shawl. "It's gonna be just fine, lad," she assured Amos again. With that, she headed for the bedroom. She knocked once and then stuck her head in. There was a brief exchange between Doc Muller and her. Then Mrs. Sullivan was back. She was positively excited now. "It's getting close," she announced to everyone. Her eyes moved to Mary. "Is the water ready? How about those towels?"

.

"Breathe, Annie, breathe, yes, that's right," Mrs. Dowdy coaxed, but all Annie could do was scream. _How was she supposed to breathe when she felt more like screaming?_ She felt as if she wasn't in control anymore. It felt as if her body was just going on basic instinct. All she wanted was for this to be over. She began to sob as she felt the contraction subside. "I can't do this!" she cried miserably.

"Oh, yes you can, sweetheart," Dr. Muller encouraged her softly as he placed his stethoscope against her stomach to listen to the baby's heartbeat again. "Strong and steady as it should be," he reassured her smiling seconds later.

Another contraction suddenly seized Annie, so powerful that it was all she could do to gasp for breath. Involuntary tears stung her eyes_. How much longer was this going to last? And most of all, how could any woman live through this?_

The contractions were almost continuous now, and suddenly she wanted to push. She desperately needed to push. Her body arched off the mattress, a terrible pressure building inside her. Annie cried out. Then as quickly as it had come, the wave of pain receded and the pressure eased. For one brief moment, she rested, then it began again.

"Oh, please, I can't do this!" Annie wailed. _It couldn't last much longer, she couldn't bear it much longer. _Tears began to seep from her eyes.

"Here we go, Annie," Mrs. Dowdy suddenly exclaimed, "I can see the head!"

But Annie barely heard her. The pressure was unbearable, blocking out everything else.

"Push, Annie, come on, push," Mrs. Dowdy urged.

Annie did as she was told. Dimly, she was astounded that her body was capable of exerting such pressure. She gave a thin cry, but barely heard it. Her world now consisted only of a powerful force that squeezed her in its fist and the voice of Mrs. Dowdy, telling her what to do.

Then, abruptly, the pressure eased, and Annie sank back, gasping for breath.

"Push, Annie, push, push…come on!" Dr. Muller urged her on, "you're almost there!"

She took a deep breath and with the last of her strength, Annie pushed, straining, and suddenly, she felt a rush, then a great sense of relief. Completely spent, she fell back against the pillows.

There was a profound moment of silence. Then a thin, wavering wail rose, gaining in strength with every second.

"It's a girl!" Dr. Muller announced happily, "a beautiful, perfect little baby girl."

.

Back in the kitchen, Amos was the first one to notice the sudden and complete silence. Slowly, he lifted his head and turned towards the bedroom door. For a moment, he simply sat, listening. The total absence of any sounds was scaring him. He pushed his chair back and clambered to his feet. "What's goin' on in there?" he wondered out loud.

Mary, Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Sullivan all exchanged unsure looks. But before anyone could say anything, a thin, quivering wail broke the silence. Simultaneously, four sets of eyes turned towards the bedroom door. But it wasn't until an excruciating five minutes later that the door finally opened.

Dr. Muller smiled at the sight of the four inquisitive faces turned towards him.

"Mother and child are doing fine," he announced cheerfully, and then he turned to Amos. "Congratulations, Amos, you're a father." He stepped aside, inviting Amos to come in. "I think Annie wants to see you now," he said smiling.

_A father. He was a father_. For a moment, Amos just stood there. For the past seven hours, he had longed for this moment to come; now that it was finally here, he didn't know how to react.

A good-natured nudge from Annie's mother helped him make up his mind. "Go on, lad, don't just stand there—" She chuckled. "Unless you want us to go in first—"

Amos shot forward as if stung by a bee. He was suddenly feeling excited and scared all at the same time. _What if Annie was still angry and didn't want to see him? _Mustering all his courage, he entered the bedroom. The moment his eyes met Annie's across the room, his unfounded fear and worries fell from him as if they had never existed.

No longer were her green eyes dulled by pain—they were shining bright and clear, regarding him with tender love. She smiled as her gaze settled on the small bundle, cradled against her breast.

Slowly, Amos moved closer, his eyes glued to the squirming bundle in Annie's arms. He came to a stop next to the bed. A tentative smile was tugging at his lips as his eyes locked with Annie's again. She motioned him to sit down beside her.

Then, ever so careful, Annie peeled the soft blanket aside. "Meet your daughter, Amos," she whispered. As if on cue, the baby began to squirm and opened her eyes, regarding Amos with studied nonchalance.

Amos jaw dropped. _There she was at last. His baby girl. _So familiar to him, yet a complete stranger. He couldn't believe how tiny she was! Slowly, his mouth spread into an incredible, broad, awe-struck grin.

His eyes flicked back to Annie's. He tried to speak, but found that his throat felt all constricted. He swallowed a few times. "She's beautiful, " he croaked hoarsely, "just like her mother."

In truth, the baby looked much like most newborns: rather red and wrinkled. But to Amos, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on—aside from Annie, of course. His eyes came to rest on his daughter again, regarding her adoringly before shifting to regard Annie with equal, but different adoration. He leaned over, carefully and kissed her, his lips lingering gently for a few moments before he pulled back. "I love you, Annie," he told her, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of emotions he had endured.

At his words, tears began to pool in Annie' eyes. She smiled tiredly. "I must be quite the sight."

He shook his head slightly, unable to take his eyes off her. "No, you're beautiful, Annie," he said softly, "especially right now." His gaze was warm and sincere, and she knew that he meant every word.

"Would you like to hold her?" she asked him now, and before Amos knew what was happening, Annie had already placed the small bundle in his arms.

Suddenly, all his confidence was gone. He held his breath, too afraid to make the slightest move. The infant began to wriggle. Instinctively, his trembling hands cradled her securely against his chest. Now that he was holding her, she seemed even smaller to him, not to mention the fact that she didn't seem to weigh anything at all. He marveled at the sight of her tiny fingers, smiled tenderly when he noticed the still damp, dark curls. "She's so tiny," he whispered, looking up at Annie with awe, "and she sure don't weigh much more than a wrench or two.

Annie made a face.

"She didn't feel so tiny ten minutes ago--"

By now, the others had begun to file into the bedroom. Everyone was cooing over the infant, congratulating the new parents. The little girl seemed to take it in stride, looking on serenely from big, blue eyes, flecked with tiny specks of green; it was clear to everyone, that her eyes wouldn't remain blue for long.

"So," Mrs. Sullivan wondered, "does my grand daughter have a name yet?"

Amos and Annie looked at each other. He nodded and Annie's gaze settled on her mother.

"We've decided to name her Kathleen," she said.

Annie's mother smiled. "That's a beautiful name if there ever was one," she declared delighted.

Everyone else was in agreement; the name was a perfect fit.

Just then, the infant cooed. Amos' tender gaze settled on her tiny face. "I think she likes it," he said, beaming at Annie.

Her warm hand settled on his arm. "I think she likes her daddy," she replied softly.

At Annie's words, his heart swelled with pride. He regarded her delightedly. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Annie smiled, never surer of anything in her life--after all, she loved Amos with all her heart; how could her daughter be any different?

.

THE END


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